


Lights up and that Christmas feelin'

by Hikary



Category: CHASM (band), Harry Styles (Musician), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Best Friends, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Established Relationship, Family, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, but i love them all, everyone is a little bit in love with Jake Gyllenhaal, past larry, the CHASM are all there they just don't say much in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikary/pseuds/Hikary
Summary: Harry is throwing a Christmas dinner with a home-made cake and basically reaching the next level of existence. Mitch is still trying to convince him working in a pizza fast food doesnotmean you can cook. Nobody asks why there's a picture of Jake Gyllenhaal in their living room, because, as weird as it might look, that's beside the point.The point is,Zayn said he was coming.(or, Christmas in London is like their friendship: messy, crowded, but nothing can beat it.)
Relationships: Jake Gyllenhaal/Tom Holland, Mitch Rowland/Harry Styles
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Lights up and that Christmas feelin'

**Author's Note:**

> *You know when you don't have money to waste but you and your bffs buy tickets to see Harry in Paris (guess who does /not/ live in Paris ah ah ah) and then you start having nightmares about Mitch getting ill and missing the show XD I just needed to let out the gigantic ball of feels and love and gratitude I have been feeling towards Harry during the past few years, so, here we go. 
> 
> *I love and cherish every single artist mentioned in this story. In they own way, they all made my 2019 the most special, crazy and rainbow-y year of my life. This is a work of fiction (and, to some extent, it has become my daily exercise in mindfulness XD), I know nothing and assume or expect nothing from them. This is respectful shipping and nothing more. (Also, I have been in this fandom 5 seconds and I had zero hateful vibes, but do I need to say I love Sarah? Like, is there even a think as people hating at any of these wonderful babies because of shipping?)

Twas the night before _a random Tuesday night in December,_ because apparently setting up a Christmas dinner for a circle of friends between 25 and 30-year-old was going to be the concept of the next _Mission Impossible_ series. 

Challenge accepted, undertaken and ultimately defeated.

At some point during the process, Harry had briefly stopped and considered how his current relationship was actually making it through it, which probably meant it was as good as going to last forever. Not that it hadn't already been the plan. He had just messaged Sarah back - _all good, my ex-boyfriend hasn't killed me and tried to stuff me into a mince pie (yet) -_ and giggled at her reply _\- ALMOST. 2. FUCKING. YEARS. GET OVER IT, H._ Harry loved doing _that_ , he had been doing it for months when people asked him about his boyfriend - e _x boyfriend, thank you_ \- and laughed like a maniac at their mortified expressions - _it's 'husband' now_.

«Hazz?» Mitch's head popped out from the kitchen, his nosetip white with flour and what Harry hoped was caster sugar. «Can you please come in here and, _uhm_ , save the cake?»

 _Nope_ , Harry was so not going to get over the fact he had been married to this man for nineteen months and and eight days.

«And, while you are at it, remind me why we didn't _buy_ food.»

«'Cause you worked in a restaurant and I am a fantastic baker!» Harry chirped as he solemnly walked into the kitchen. 

He grabbed an apron - pink flamingos, of course - and he handed it over to Mitch, who sighed dramatically (he had learnt from the best) and tied a ribbon around Harry's neck.

«I was putting frozen pizzas in an industrial oven and you were selling cupcakes after school when you were fourteen. »

Harry just spinned around in his arms and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

«A match made in Heaven. »

He added an extra peck on Mitch's nose, for good measure, and _yep,_ that was definitely sugar.

Harry loved to tell anyone would listen that he got engaged the same year as Jake Gyllenhaal - _a coincidence? I think not, my friend_ \- and he would add, in great detail, the story of how he was _there_ when it happened. Well, it was _obviously there_ for his own proposal, but it was _actually there_ , at the very same party where one of the most gorgeous human beings who has ever walked on this Earth had sneaked out with his boyfriend and, somehow, ended up proposing. 'Somehow', because, technically, Harry was a little bit drunk, very much engaged, and stupidly in love with his fiancé, and he had spent most of the evening with an arm draped around Mitch's neck, shouting _we're getting married_ at every unfortunate guest they crossed paths with. ('But kindly', Ed had felt the need to reassure him the morning after, 'you were sort of shouting, but kindly, it wasn't scary. Maybe a bit aggressive. _Aggressively kindly_.' Ed, the poet.) regardless of the details Harry had carefully selected a picture from the evening where he could be seen talking to Jake, got it framed, and put it on his living room. Tom had _begged_ him in at least three languages to take it down, claiming Jake was going to freak out the next time they were coming over, and then he had turned to Mitch when Harry had just blatantly ignored him. Mr Soon-To-Be-Styles had shot Tom a concerning look: _I have already told him he can't put it in our bedroom, Tom, you should appreciate small victories._ As much as the story of the infamous framed picture had always stirred lots of intrest among their guests, it was just another unimportant detail about Harry’s life and, most importantly, _Harry’s Christmas_ compared to the big highlight of the season.

 _Zayn said he was coming_.

After studying is scheduled for months, Harry had popped the question: all details already decided, a brutally honest description of the guests, a solemn promise to keep Liam away from Spotify after his third drink, just the way Zayn liked his party invitations. Not that he wasn't busy most of the time anyway - _busy being busy,_ Niall had said once.

There was no resentment there.

Harry had a faint memory from late 2020, the last he had seen of any negative feeling. It would be too much to put all the merit for that on Mitch's shoulders, although Harry had indeed been occupied with several Mitch-related activities. Such as, performing the most embarrassing improvised love song ever at Taylor's party for International Cat Day, which went down in history as "the day those two idiots made it official", followed by an interview in Jamaica - _because thank you Jamaica, like, thank you, really_ \- where Harry had started a sentence with 'this morning, when I went shopping with my boyfriend'.

Just like that.

He had suddenly felt like saying that one specific word the world had always wanted so desperately from him. It never mattered what Harry did or said that meant the same, according to some bizarre cosmic rule nothing counted unless you dropped the b-word. It was starting to feel like a duty, something he _owed_ them. Out of instinct, he had followed the part of him that stubbornly refused to give that word up. Until that morning, in Jamaica, where everything always seemed to adjust in his head, as if the light was suddenly better and the prospective more accurate. After taking a stroll down a beautiful street market with Mitch, just _breathing in_ their favourite place, sharing a smoothie like the hopeless hipsters they had become, Harry had forgotten _why_ , why he had never used that word before, why it was such a big deal. 

So, he had been keeping busy too, watching his life coming together, taking a shape he finally recognised as _his_ , where people hold the place they deserved.

There were two texts from Zayn he kept screenshotted and saved in a special folder. The first was from the day of the Jamaica interview, a heartfelt declaration of loving support: _Saw the interview_ , _your shirt was worse than the usual xxx,_ because Zayn should have been a cryptographer at the MI6 or a Jedi Knight. The second was about the Christmas party: _I'll be there with the best present ever._

Liam and Niall were easier targets, especially since the first rule of the Rowland-Styles household was that kids of all ages were always welcome. (No, Niall didn't have any kids.) There was a text from Niall, too, in the special folder: _if you're busy and need help with the invites or anything lemme know_. Harry loved that text. He kept it to remind himself there is a kind of love that just doesn't go away, maybe fades and falters throughout the course of your life, but it never dies. The kind of love for your friend that made Niall say, in not so many words, that Harry didn't have to deal with Louis alone, if he didn't want to; that Niall was going to deliver him with a freaking red ribbon on his head, if that was Harry's wish, or make sure he was going to be in Patagonia at the time of the party. 

Harry could still manage that much, or had a contingency plan anyway. Mitch had been the one pressing the 'send' button, although the draft had been written entirely by Harry (one of the few things they hadn't written together) in no longer than 4 days.

_hi_

_we're having a Christmas dinner in London next Tuesday,_

_drop by if you are in the country!_

Major differences from the first draft where the use of Louis' nickname - _hi Lou -_ which he felt was unnecessarily nostalgic, and some impractical greetings - _no need to confirm, we'll be here all night_ \- because, Zen bullshit aside, he needed to at least know whether he was coming.

He hadn't mentioned this was the first Christmas party they were having in their London house, that somehow had always felt more like a _home_ , a place to be uninteresting and domestic in a way L.A. or New York would have never allowed. (A place where another Harry had brought another house, a million years ago, and learned how to turn it into a _home_ , but how could he ever said that?). He hadn't told Lou that he and Mitch had been shopping for decorations together at Liberty, feeling on the sappy side of posh - two newlyweds young enough to get excited over their first Christmas tree and yet still rich enough to cover said tree in £30 Christmas balls. Not a word on how Harry longed for him to meet Mitch and Sara and Claire and the others, or tell Mitch about Harry's most embarrassing moments from when they were little, because no one could tell a funny story like Louis. Nothing on how this was Harry sharing the life he had started building with all the people he cared about, and Louis' empty place will have stood out more than the lighted-up Christmas tree, in Harry's eyes.

It was the fakest thing he had ever written.

If Mitch hadn't been Mitch, he would have been embarrassed to show it to _him_ , of all people, to the person who had been drowning in Harry's head for years now, finding his way around Harry’s messy writing process among a myriad of halves - half-sentences, half-images, half-feelings Harry was afraid to get to the end of. And he had been wonderful. Always so careful when he was holding Harry's whole soul in his hands, one line at the time. Harry remembered realising that only weeks into starting working on the album. That was when it occurred to him that he was being so reckless it was either going to kill him or turn into the love of his life. 

Mitch, though, had just sent the message without comments, and he had read him Louis' reply, almost immediate, the usual 'thanks, I'll try'. Their code for 'thank you, but _no, thank you_ '. Harry had waited for the wave of relief to wash over himself, drenching him in shame for thinking it was, perhaps, for the best, that _it will be easier without him here_. He had waited, indeed. But, to his surprise, the relief never showed up. He had turned to Mitch to kiss the disappointment away. 

*******

When the rest of the CHASM showed up a good half an hour in advance, just to make sure Harry and Mitch had some ‘silly time’ to cool down after 48 hours of non-stop adulting, Harry was very close to cry of happiness. It couldn’t be this easy. Really. It occurred to him that maybe his concept of ‘easy’ was closer to a poorly written fifth season of a soap opera when they had to fire the showrunner after the mid-season finale and now the plot looked like the script version of a Cubist painting; but to him, this was way above the average ‘simple’.

He stopped thinking about it the moment people started showing up, and he had long buried the thought when Liam _finally_ arrived, bringing Harry’s favourite gift – a toddler to play with. He met Mitch’s eyes as he was rolling on the floor with Baer, and they just grinned at each other. _Oh, they were having_ so many _of those cute beans,_ just give them a few years.

The only person who dared interrupting was Zayn. He had been checking his phone suspiciously often, which Harry would have normally noticed if he hadn’t been otherwise occupied. Zayn literally pulled him up and whispered something in his hear.

« _I think my present is just about to knock._ »

« _Your present has hands?_ » Harry whispered back, because it was the first thought his mind produced.

Zayn gave him a funny look, the sort you would normally expect from Niall.

« You will regret this question, but, given the occasion, I will not make inappropriate jokes. »

Harry barely had the time to give him a quzzicle look, before someone _did_ knock. The fact Zayn followed him to the door just made it evern more concerning.

« Whatever this is, I hope you remember there are children in this ho- »

But, when he opened the door, ‘the present’ looked up to him and smiled, and Harry momentanely forgot how to breathe.

« _We_ were kinda hoping so. Zayn said it was actually a children party in disguise. »

Harry opened and closed his mouth twice, before Zayn took over and answered for him.

« Niall is building a train track with I’d rather not knowing what, because it looks fucking expensive. »

Still confined on the doorstep, Louis chuckeld and Harry didn’t know any better than throwing himself at him. He could tell that wasn’t what Louis had expected, and, for a moment, it was just Harry hugging the life out of him and Louis standing there, hoping his bones would outlive Harry’s welcome. Then, slowly, almost inquisitively, he put one arm around the other man and gave him a little squeeze.

That was, more or less, when Harry’s brain started working again. He suddenly remembered that Lou had said ‘we’, and he also noticed how his other arm was occupied by holding a tiny hand in his. And _there he was_. He could swear Zayn had just murmured ‘Merry Christmas’, because trust Zayn to be this crazy and unpredictable when you are finally sure there’s nothing crazy and unpredictable about Zayn.

« Hi. » Harry said, almost surprised to hear his own voice still working.

Freddie waved shyly, and for a second he scooted closer to his father, like any child would do in a room full of adult strangers. Harry’s heart was beating so fast he wondered, like in the best cliché movie, if it was actually audible from the surrounding world. Not that he cared much about having a stroke at this point, he just didn’t want to scare the kid. Freddie was the most perfect little human he had ever seen. Perhaps because he had almost only seen pictures until now, and they completely missed how vibrant he was in real life, with soft squishy cheeks, tiny _tiny_ hands, hidden inside equally tiny gloves Harry was never going to get over, and the bluest eyes in the world - that now were _two pairs_ instead of one.

Harry barely realised he was getting down on his knees to be at the same level. Freddie smiled immediately, Harry’s magic connection with kids working as usual.

« Do you wanna come and check out the train track? »

Freddie’s eyes lighted up. He searched his father’s face for permission.

« It’s okay, buddy, you can go. Whatever uncle Haz says, it’s like daddy said it, ‘kay? Same for uncle Zayn and Liam. » he paused and pressed a finger on his mounth « Maybe just ignore uncle Niall, for now. »

Harry held out his hand for the kid.

« First thing, we’re getting all this fluffy clothing off, shall we? »

Freddie just nodded, already completely in love and Harry looked just the same. Zayn made a face that told Harry he had a plan to bring the child to Harry, but had forgotten to make another to take the child _away_ from Harry. And that he could see now that ‘uncle Haz’ wasn’t going down without a fight.

« I might have not thought this through. » Harry heard him saying to Louis.

« Look at me, I am so desperate I have to hand over my kid to the most realiable babysitter in the world and spend the evening drinking and eating homemade cake. »

Lou sounded so dramatic that, before he knew it, Harry was laughing out loud.

Mitch came to check on him on the carpet after a while, bringing a drink for him and Niall The Builder, and a plate of mince pies for everyone. He crawled on the floor next to Harry, who thanked him with a kiss on the cheek.

« _Hi, love._ » Mitch murmured.

« _Hi_. »

« Are you enjoying your new friend? »

« That’s Freddie. I think I love him. We’re keeping him forever. » Harry replied, grinning from one ear to the other.

« _‘kay._ » it was all Mitch had to say about kidnapping and raising someone else’s child, and kissed him back.

Eventually, the toddlers fell asleep, both on Harry, still on the floor. Louis sat next to Harry, on Freddie’s side.

« If you are about to offer to take him- »

« I would never disrespect you that way. »

They both chuckled.

« Nice party, Hazz. Really. I like your friends. »

« Thanks. You know, I like my friends, too. »

Somehow, he found the courage to look straight into Louis’ eyes – something he could not do even in his wildest dreams.

« I really do. _All of them._ They’re kinda awesome. »

And then, something magic happened. Louis just smiled, softly, as if those words had finally allowed him to make peace with the universe, and he rested his head on Harry’s shoulder.

« Zayn? »

« Mh? »

« Do you know how much I love you? »

« I have my suspicions. »

« Like, really _a lot_. I am going to write you a song. »

« Please, you write songs about _anything_. »

Harry pouted.

« I’m giving you _Jake’s spot_. I’ll print our best selfie and frame it and put it on his spot. Pinky promise. »

« That’s an interesting offer, but we don’t have selfies. »

« Then _let’s take a selfie!_ » Harry shouted excitedly, prompting the whole room to turn to their direction.

Both Harry and Zayn were starting to wonder who was playing who, at this point, still, they were drunk enough to just roll with it.

*******

« _Well_ » Harry said, collapsing on the sofa next to his husband after the last of their guests (Niall, unsurprisingly) had been kicked out.

« Well. » Mitch echoed him, sounding equally tired, one arm stretching to curl around Harry almost authomatically.

Harry let out a happy sight.

« That was messy. And crowded. And _good_. »

« Forever the poet, Haz. »

« Just wait until I find the energy to reach your guitar. »

« ‘My guitar’? »

« You know it’s always _your guitar_ when the lovely old lady upstairs complain about hearing music at 4am. »

« I see. You are taking her side.»

« Hey, she makes terrific scones. »

« Mh » Mitch considered, and leaned down to kiss the messy bundle of curls on top of Harry's head « She does. »

They remained silent for a few minutes, and Harry had to fight the urge to laugh at the cosmic joke his life has turned into, because ‘comfortable silence’ was how he would describe the half of his marriage that wasn’t about playing on stage together or writing music as if they were the same person.

« I can’t believe I finally saw the five of you in the same room. It’s like- » Mitch stopped, but _not really_ , he just sort of looked at him and Harry nodded.

« I know. _That._ »

« But still good. Like you said.»

« _Messy, crowded, good_. » Harry repeated, almost chanting the words.

He looked up at Mitch through his eyelashes.

« _No._ »

« Pleeeeease. »

« We have been awake since- »

« _Pleasepleaseplease_. Just a few minutes. »

« Five minutes. » 

« Sure. » Harry nodded solemnly. « _Five minutes and then we stop._ »

« Have you been watching _Storks_ without me? »

Harry jumped out of the couch before Mitch could force the truth out of him with either tickling or kisses – they were both deadly effective on him.

*******

« Harry? Wow, didn’t think you’d pick up, honestly. Thought you’d be dead to the world. »

« Nah. » Harry put the phone on his shoulder and tried to keep it in place titling his head and pressing his cheeck against it, his now free hands busy pouring two cups of coffee. « ‘M making coffee. What’s up? »

« I think i dropped my wallet there, I jusy got a call from my bloody bank and I notcied- _wait_ , it’s 8am and I’m pretty sure I left at, like, 4am. Why the fuck are you making coffee? Please tell me Mitch is not one of those obsessive organised people who can’t sleep if the house is not clean. »

« _Please_. I would have saved myself the hassle and married Liam years ago. »

Niall actually laughed, in spite of the time and the bloody bank and all.

« We didnt’t sleep much. » he said, casually.

He could feel Niall breathing in and loading a dirty joke, when Mitch made what Harry interpreted as a victorious sound in the form of a loud curse.

« What was- » Niall began.

« HARRY! HARRY, I THINK I GOT IT! » Mitch shouted from the other room, then started playing something on the guitar.

« Be there in a sec, love. » Harry shouted back. « We’re, uhm. »

« You have been up _writing songs?_ »

Harry couldn’t tell if Niall sounded disgusted or in adoration – the thing was, Niall probably didn’t know either.

« Oh my god. That’s it. I’m telling Zayn. »

Harry got a message from Zayn in the afternoon, when he was lying in bed with Mitch, both slightly comatose and smeared in ink where ink was never meant to be after deciding to have a round of celebration sex halfway finishing writing the song.

_I had nightmares about your Christmas jumper._

_I don’t understand how your taste in clothes can be compatible with human life. x_

_PS: I guess your taste in husbands and friends makes up for it ;)_

He actually replied before taking the screenshot and saving the exchange.

_I love you, too ♥  
_

**Author's Note:**

>  _Could_ this fic exist without Tom & Jake?  
> Probably.
> 
>  _Would_ this fic exist without Tom & Jake?  
> No freaking way.
> 
> I am still trying to put together a coherent fic about them, so I had to include them in this one in the meantime. Thank you thank you thank you for kicking toxic masculinity in the butt every single day by simply existing.
> 
> (It might seem irrelevant, but I BET Taron was at the Christmas party, too, because soft baby British boys bake together, duh.)
> 
> *YOU MADE IT THIS FAR! CRONGRATS x YOU DESERVE TO GO HOME AND WATCH _STORKS_ ♥


End file.
